The Movement of Time
by NCR627
Summary: I am currently rewriting the story - refer to my profile for explanation. Time will continue to test the strength of what a person has tried so hard to create and in turn will ask what lengths a person is willing to go to hold fast to what means the most.
1. Chapter 1

**The Movement of Time**

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The sun was setting for the day to give way to the moon, a mere shadow of the sun's brilliance throughout the night. But lucky for the moon, it has many glittering stars to assist it in creating a unique brilliance for the night sky. As the sun set she was reminded of the warmth of his arms wrapped around her when she had needed a shoulder to cry on and a friend to listen to her woes.

Where had the time gone? Now in mere months a man whom she had never loved will hold her hand in marriage and she will be powerless to stop it. He wasn't a scary man, he wasn't even ugly in either personality or profile; he was a decent fellow with a passion for music and good manners who knew how to treat a lady right. She didn't know why she shied away from such a man, but she did so anyway. She didn't want to be looked upon as a lady, she wanted to be looked upon as a companion without the trifles of chivalry to get in the way.

She smiles sadly to herself. That's how he was. That's how the man she truly loves is. He didn't care if she was a girl or not, but he always respected her company and treated her as if she were any old boy. But there was a certain softness to him at times, a softness that he would try to hide with some sort of bravado. However, there was that one time he didn't try to hide that sweet side of his. It was just once and in this very meadow...

She had come to him for comfort because the boys had taken to picking on her once they had found out she really wasn't a boy. She couldn't remember how long she had cried on his shoulder nor could she be expected to repeat the soothing words of wisdom and comfort he had whispered to her in her ear, but she did remember that once she had stopped crying he held her for moment and said, "You know, you're beautiful as a girl. But I must admit, I'm jealous – it's not our little secret any more." Then he picked a flower from the meadow and tucked it into her hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The flower, which was later identified as a geranium, is to this day tucked into one of her romance novels so that it will be preserved for as long as physically possible. They had fallen asleep that night in the meadow and she had woken up with his arms wrapped around her. He had still been asleep so she took the time to capture the moment with her eyes. His silver hair glistened with the first rays of light and after a time he had begun to wake up and his ruby red eyes were smokey with the shadow of sleep. She smiled at the thought. She didn't believe him at all when he had said those words to her, but now in the very same meadow, watching the scene play out before her in her mind's eye she could believe him. She could truly believe that he thought she was beautiful.

With new found courage she stood up confidently and broke into a run towards her home. She packed everything she thought she would need which was clothes and little money. After contemplating with herself for a while she decided to take a book with her as well. With a suitcase packed she set about following her heart for the first time in a while and probably for the last. 

Moments of frozen time are scattered across his living room floor, printed on various sizes of photo paper. They showed him simpler times; times where it was okay to hold each other close without there being any meaning deeper than that they were lonely and scared, but now... now things were different. In a matter of months she would be another man's and he would be left with nothing but his memories and his feelings for her. He's wanted so desperately to tell her and how much time he's spent thinking keenly upon this subject he would never admit to anyone... not even to her.

With a heavy heart he begins to pack away all the pictures into a box that would be put at the top of his closet for the future – so the future him would go through the closet wondering what the dusty box conceals and then a fresh wound would be opened over the barely healing scar on his heart when he would open the box. After all, that would be a suitable punishment for loving another man's woman. No. She was never nor will ever be just a woman, she will forever be the most amazing and spectacular person he had ever met and the only one to ever possess his heart – whether she knew it or not.

While in the middle of packing away the last of the photos into what you could call a time capsule the doorbell rings its soft tinkling ring and it reminds him so much of her little laugh. He sits there a moment imagining something that used to play out quite often when they were younger. He would be sitting in the grass while she would twirl about with her arms outstretched to the heavens in her green maiden's dress with her pure white apron attempting to follow suit. Her chestnut hair would flow about her only causing her to look more like the most beautiful angel in human form. Then she would suddenly stop, look over her shoulder with her emerald eyes and the brightest smile that seemed to defy all possibility with its radiance and say something silly like "Gilbert, isn't the sky just so_ blue_ today?" Then he would retort with something like "The sky is _always _blue, Eli." Then would come her matter-of-fact tone and another response from her that was always different. He smiles to himself in bliss at the thought of her and her purity.

Another ring from the doorbell brings him back to reality and he gets up to answer the door, leaving his time capsule only partially packed for the future. When he opens the door his eyes drop down to the sitting figure on his doorstep who stares out at his lawn with a suitcase of who knows what and a book stacked neatly on top of it. "What are _you _doing here?" he asks somewhat harshly. The person's head turns, revealing emerald green eyes that are glistening with the threat of tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Movement of Time**

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She stands now so that her body is parallel with his and she is able to see his face clearly. She takes in what he exposes to the world:  
A cool unruffled man who is at the moment dressed in a white button-down shirt with black pants and no shoes.

He looks at her, observing her appearance for a brief moment, she is clad in a lovely dress from her country; the bodice is arctic white and hangs off her creamy pale shoulders while the skirt is layered black fabric that reaches her ankles with a flower design in crimson and green thread at the hem and she ties off the outfit with a pair of simple black pumps. She is the vision of beauty.

"You... You shouldn't be here, Elizaveta," he says lamely looking away from her eyes knowing full well that if he looks into them his heart will melt along with his will. "Gil, I...," she trails off reaching her hand out to touch his cheek, but he grabs hold of her soft hand before she is able to accomplish her mission.

This small form of rejection causes the tears that she has worked so hard to keep at bay fall over the rims of her eyelids and run down her face in tiny rivulets. "Gilbert, I-I'm scared," she stammers weakly. Gilbert allows himself one glance at her and feels his well built resolution crumble before his eyes at the sight of her in tears. He releases her hand and cups her wet cheek. He wipes away several tears with his thumb before threading his fingers into her chestnut hair and pulling her into a warm embrace where she is allowed to cry into his chest. "Shh... Eli, it's okay. There's no need to be scared," he murmurs softly into her hair. To this she only grips his shirt tighter as if he were her only anchor to this world and in a sense he probably is.

They stand there for a while like this, her crying into his chest while he attempts to soothe her with words of comfort and sweet caresses. She believes she couldn't have picked a better place to find solace than in his arms, here she would be able to cry to her heart's content and expose her fears. Soon sobs cease wracking her body and the tears stop flowing down her face and it is then that Gilbert holds her at arms-length and asks the unanswered question that had been hanging in the air the moment he found her on his doorstep, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm scared," she answers, shame filling her tone as she looks away unable to meet his stare. "Well, that's obvious. Mind telling me why you're so scared and why you decided of all places to come here?" His words are casual and nonchalant, but his tone hints at harsh cutting edges. "My house – it's so lonely. I'm all by myself most of the time, left alone with my thoughts..." She takes a deep ragged breath before she continues, "I can't stop thinking about it – the wedding. Gilbert, I don't love him! I don't want to spend my life with him – I can't." Gilbert looks at her with eyes that look distant, and speaks with a cautious voice. "I don't know what to tell you, Eli. I honestly don't. But if you came here for a place to stay so that you won't feel so lonely, I will gladly open my door for you."

She looks into his eyes, desperate to find something, anything, but all she sees is a sad emptiness, like there was something missing in his soul. She hesitates for a moment before asking, "Gil, what's wrong?" He looks at her with that same kind of sadness, the sadness of someone who will soon be abandoned and knows it. "You know, you're beautiful as the woman you are. And I'm still jealous because it's not our little secret any more." She gives him one more searching glance, but his expression reveals nothing but the defeat of a man who has lost everything that matters to him. Tears begin to well up in her eyes once more. Has he truly lost everything that matters to him?

"Let's get you moved in, shall we?" he asks with a fake smile that stabs at her heart. She can only nod at this. She picks up her book and is about to take hold of her suitcase, but he beats her to it. Eli is led to his bedroom where she will be staying with him for the remainder of her time as a free woman.

He sat on his balcony that night looking up at the moon while she was fast asleep on his bed. She was his if only for a moment and he was grateful for that. With the attitude of a man who had gone through many trials, but had finally found happiness amidst the rubble that was his life, he lay on his bed careful not to wake her sleeping form. After planting a gentle kiss on her forehead he wraps his arms around her. "You're right Eli, life isn't just one solid color, it's made up of many shades – just like the sky," he whispers, breathing in her sweet scent and falling asleep with a small smile to soften his features.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Movement of Time**

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A soft voice calls to him from the darkness of his subconscious. His eyes begin to merely flutter. The moonlight casts a soft glow upon her silhouette, dimly illuminating her waves of warm brown hair and the contours of her body in a simple aqua cotton dress that billows slightly with the cool breeze coming from the open window at her back. She looks like an angel. Now the very crucial question arises:  
Was this supposed to be Heaven or his personal Hell?

"Gil. Gilbert," she calls, her voice a wondrous melody intertwined with grief. "Wha-?" he questions while stifling a yawn. Her pale hand that seems to gleam in the moonlight reaches over to grasp his shoulder and gently shake it to rouse him from his sleeping stupor.

Finally conscious, Gilbert looks at Eli who has an almost pained look on her face. "Gil, we need to talk." With sleep still fogging his mind he asks, "About what?" She gives him a hard impatient look and he snaps out of his daze. "What's wrong, Eli?" he questions, concern overfilling in his tone. "Come with me," she says in a voice that leaks betrayal. Wordlessly they walk out of the room an uncomfortable silence hanging above them like an ominous cloud. He couldn't even think about what would be so important that she felt she had to wake him in the early morning. And where was she taking him? His mind races with many thoughts as hers is set in what she is about to do. She leads him to the living room downstairs. The moonlight is the only form of illumination in the room, but that didn't matter as he set eyes on the box with numerous photos still scattered about it.

His ruby eyes harden and his lips purse into a line as thin as a piece of lead from a mechanical pencil. "What did you want to talk about?" he asks his voice tensing like the air around them. Eli takes a calming breath hoping to settle her nerves so that her resolution doesn't weaken with him staring so intensely at her. "Why are you packing those pictures away?" she whispers quietly. To her surprise and frustration he bursts out laughing, a loud cackling laugh that is only a facade to detract her attention away from what he is really feeling. "You woke me up in the dead of morning and for what? To interrogate me about why I'm packing away old pictures. You know, Eli, I thought this was going to be something important. I'm going back to bed." At this her carefully composed argument crumbles, but she doesn't care. "Dammit! This _is_ important," she yells, her eyes burning emerald. He sets his jaw and looks her back in the eyes with pure fire. "It isn't." He enunciates every word so that each one is like a hard slap to the face for her. She didn't know whether it was his stinging words or his harsh tone – nor did she care – all she knew at that moment was that she couldn't stand to be around him, not right now.

"You know what, Gilbert?" She sneers as his name makes its way out from between her lips. "What?" he asks coolly, unsuspectingly. Tears begin to prick at her eyes and she tries to keep them at bay for as long as it takes to say what is on her mind. "You're a fucking bastard. I thought you really cared about me. Guess I was wrong huh? I'm leaving." With that said she tries to storm out of the house, but he grabs one of her wrists in a strong hold. "Let go!" she yells, trying to wrestle with his grasp as the tears begin streaming down her face in small rivulets. His eyes are heavily clouded as if he was really thinking about what he was going to do next. Reflexively he reaches up his free hand to wipe away her precious tears, but she jerks away from his touch. "Don't touch me," she hisses through clenched teeth not bothering to hide the venom in her voice nor the hatred that hardens her still beautiful eyes. Several moments of thick silence pass until Elizaveta decides to break it harshly. "So what are you going to do? Just stand watch and make sure I don't leave or do you have something to say to me?" she asks coldly while glaring daggers at him. "Shut the hell up, Eli," he says just as harsh. "You know, you can be a real bitch sometimes." She says nothing to this.

He lets go of his hold on her, saying, "You want to go? Be my guest. I'm not stopping you this time. Go on. The door's waiting for you." She doesn't reply, doesn't even move as guilt consumes her entire being. What had she done? Tears begin to sting at his eyes and knowing there is no use fighting them he merely walks over to the couch and buries his face in his hands where he allows his emotions to take control. After quite some time passes, he finally looks up with tear filled eyes. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he states simply in a raspy voice. "Gil, I - " He holds up a hand, requesting that she say nothing because he cannot stand to hear her voice at the moment. It would only make things worse exactly now. More silence passes between the two so Elizaveta decides to sit cross-legged on the couch while facing him, waiting. He looks up pleading with his eyes for her to understand what he has to say. "You have no idea how hard it is for me just having you here in my house," he says slowly as if thinking about every word before it passes through his lips. At this Eli glares at him with new found frustration. "And why is that? If you don't want me here then say so. Don't be an idiot and feel like you're being forced to let me stay with you," she says angrily. "Do you honestly think it's that simple? Do you think it's easy for me to sit here and try to tell you that I'm packing away those pictures 'cause I can't stand to see you? Because I know I'll do something fucking crazy if I do? Yeah. That's easy as hell," he shouts back with biting sarcasm. She refrains from pointing out that he just did and allows him to go on. He sighs deeply as he throws his head against the back of the sofa. "Look, do you think it's easy for me to see you get married off – to _Roderich_ no less – just over some political bullshit? Because it sure as hell isn't," he says his tone slowly returning back to normal. "Do you think it's easy for me to sit around just waiting to be married off to some guy I don't even love?" she retorts. "That's not what I'm trying to get at," he starts but is immediately cut off by her sharp words. "Then by all means, Gilbert, tell me what you're trying to get at!"

"I don't want to see you get married. Wanna know why? Because I fucking love you! Alright, I said it. Happy now? I love you, Eli. I've loved you for a long time now," he shouts impatiently but towards the end his crescendo begins to soften. She is taken aback and what ever response she had been planning to say died out as a pink blush began dusting her cheeks. "You what?" she asks uncertainly feeling as if what had just transpired between them were only an illusion of her desperate mind; surely she had heard him wrong. "Don't make me say it again, Eli. Please," he murmurs pathetically. Not bothering to look him in the eyes, she stares at her hands as they fiddle with the hem of her dress. "What if I were to say I loved you too?" she whispers so softly that it was almost inaudible. To her surprise he moves closer and soon she can feel his strong hand lifting her chin upwards so she can meet his intent stare. Intent on what? She could not say. "Then I would do this..." Almost immediately she feels soft moist lips mold to the shape of her own. Her eyes widen at the intimate contact and her heart begins to beat what feels like a million times a second. Almost as soon as his lips touched hers they pulled away. "W-why did you do th-that?" she asks nervously, looking over his shoulder and avoiding his eyes at all costs. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" he questions, slightly puzzled by her reaction. "Well, no... I mean yes! A million times yes, but..." "Then shut the hell up. You talk to much," he says smiling before he kisses her again, this time more forcefully and passionately. This time she gives into the kiss eagerly, her eyes fluttering closed as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. At least for now Elizaveta Hederavy's engagement to Roderich Edelstein could be forgotten for a political relationship has never had anything to do with true love like a moment such as this has.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Movement of Time

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He was just about to begin unlacing his jet black boots when a muffled cry at the door caught his attention. Eli was standing in the doorway in her white dress, looking absolutely pitiful. Her emerald eyes shimmer brilliantly with the threat of tears and her facial features are contorted to keep them at bay. "I-I'm sorry, Gilbert," she chokes out, covering her nose and mouth as if she could keep from crying if she did. He crosses the room despite that the ten mile march with his country's flag earlier that day had exhausted him. The sound of his boots striking the floor echo in the heavy silence that surrounds them. He cups her cheek, staring sadly into her eyes, and pulls her into his chest in a warm embrace. Here she allows her tears to freely fall only to be soaked by his jacket.

"This uniform..." she murmurs, grabbing a hold of his lapel and not bothering to look up because she could already see his expression of subtle bewilderment. "Eli... What are you getting at?" he asks softly, burying his face in her hair that smells like a blooming garden in the middle of the spring. "Don't leave me behind to grieve is what I'm getting at," she says, looking up to attempt to meet his ruby eyes. "I... can't promise that and you know it as well as I do," Gilbert says sorrowfully, unable to even look at her. He holds her tighter to him as if she could go away at any moment. How could he leave her at such a horrible time and with the wedding only a month away too? She was more scared of having to get married than he was of having to go to battle in a matter of mere days. Only God knew he wanted so desperately to stay and yet He was sending him off to war where he could possibly die and never get to see Elizaveta or hear her laugh again.

"I-I-I know," Elizaveta sobs into his chest, tears streaming rapidly down her face only to be soaked up by his clothes. He gently strokes her silky chestnut hair in the hopes that the small act of affection will calm her very active nerves if only for a moment. Unable to come up with anything that could put her mind at ease, Gilbert simply says, "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault," she mumbles weakly as she looks up and with a tear stained face forces a cheerful smile upon her face. "Don't try to pretend that I haven't hurt you. It only makes things worse," Gilbert says with his eyes closed, still unable to meet hers. A thick silence that is almost palpable envelopes the room. Soundlessly they both walk out onto the balcony hand in hand as if afraid that physical separation could kill the other.

She pulls away, leaving Gilbert at the doorway, leans against the railing and looks up at the full moon, her eyes glazed over somewhat with the aftermath of tears. "I don't want you to leave, Gilbert," she says evenly, her eyes as solid as emerald itself as she makes eye contact with him. "I don't want to," he replies, closing the distance between the two of them in only two strides. "I love you," he says, lowering his lips to hover over hers. "Then kiss me, stupid," she retorts, meeting his lips almost forcefully. "You have... _no_... idea how... you affect me," Gilbert says in between kisses. "I think I do," Eli states with a smirk on her face and her hands on her hips. "Or really?" he questions, stepping back slightly to analyze her. God! Under the moonlight she looked heavenly. "Yes." "Well then go on. _Prove _it. Because I don't think you can," Gilbert urges. "Goodness Gilbert. You doubt me too much," Elizaveta teases. "Don't stall so much and maybe I won't."

"Stall? I'm not the one stalling Gilbert, you are and I do not believe dance partners should ever stand so far apart," Eli states, serious now. "I wasn't aware we were dancing at all," Gilbert says, eying her suspiciously. Elizaveta closes the distance between them and takes hold of his hand, putting her other on his broad shoulder and loving the feel of it under her fingertips. Following her lead, Gilbert rests his hand on her hip and smiles down at her, waiting for her to make the next move – and she did. Eli set the smooth pace of a light but swift moving dance.

Soon, they are engulfed by the silent music of their hearts intertwining into one solid tempo. Neither one of them led, they simply followed each other and their spontaneous wishes. At times Eli would be spun and held close afterward, other times Gilbert would dip her down low so that her long wavy hair would delicately touch the floor. Sometimes Eli took charge and slowed the pace, resting her head on his chest and listen to the sound of his heart beat. When they decided that they were both exhausted, they simply stood with her arms draped over his shoulders and his hands on her hips in one spot swaying to and fro their foreheads touching as they looked into each others eyes.

"Eli," Gilbert says huskily. "Hmm?" she hums in response to her name. "Can you explain to me what all that was about?" he asks naively. She laughs softly, a big smile spreading across her face like a butterfly that has first begun to stretch its wings to fly. "You mean to tell me that you didn't figure it out? I thought you would; you always say you're so awesome you could figure anything out," she mocks sarcastically. "Just tell me already," Gil practically begs. She laughs again. "I just _proved_ my point," she says happily, clearly proud of herself for having bested the overconfident man before her. "_How_?" Gilbert asks, completely bewildered. "I don't see how dancing proves that you know how you affect me." "Really? Because it proves _everything_," she retorts, still smiling widely. She looked amazing, but that didn't mean Gilbert would let her get away with besting him without challenging her claims thoroughly. "Please enlighten me then."

"Okay!" She giggles, the lightest and most delicate of blushes dusting itself across her nose and cheeks. "Well, you see, Gilbert, dancing has often been a way to express an intimate connection with your partner and the way you move with one another expresses that connection physically," she explains calmly, knowing full well that she was right. "Then by all means give me an example of this theory." "Of course! I could never leave you without an example," she says loudly. "You held me close to the point where our bodies were always touching which entails an intimacy. Now as for the actual dance itself. Our dance was neither choreographed nor planned, we simply followed each other which means that we would follow each other to the ends of the earth, no matter how unsure we may be. And that, Mr. Smarty, concludes part of my insightful view of our dance – unless you wish to hear more that is." She smiles up at him with the sweetest of all smiles.

A short silence blooms until Gilbert manages to gather himself. He takes hold of her hand and slowly spins her around, at the same time saying, "That is a rather shallow view of my emotions," he states as he plants a lingering kiss upon her supple lips, trying to persuade her. "Wouldn't you agree?" She looks defiantly at him, her eyes alight with fire, preparing to dispute what ever comes out of his mouth next. "You are correct, Eli, I would follow you to the ends of the earth no matter how uncertain I felt. I can't deny that. However, that dance could not tell you how my heart begins to beat faster when I touch you; how I can hardly ever stand to take my eyes off you; how much... I want you to be mine." He hesitated to say the last part because he hadn't thought about how she would react to his choice of words. To his surprise she looks down, smiling gently as a blush slowly spreads across her face. "Uh, what I meant to say was –" He gets cut off by her index finger resting vertically upon his lips, the universal sign that he should keep his mouth shut for the moment.

An almost uncomfortable silence envelops them for what felt like the millionth time that day before Eli looks up with earnest eyes that bore deep into his soul. "I already am," she whispers, planting a ghostly kiss on his jawline. "Eli... Don't do this to me," Gilbert moans. "You're getting married in a few weeks. You can't claim that you're mine when someone else is going to hold your hand in marriage. I lost my chance and you know it." She looks down for a moment before replying. "You're right... But just because I will be married and someone else will hold my hand doesn't mean they will hold my heart. Gilbert, you have always held my heart in an unbreakable bond. Just because Roderich will soon hold my hand and claim me as his wife doesn't mean I will ever truly be his."

Gilbert drops down on one knee and holds her hand delicately in his; he looks up at her with piercing red eyes that make her heart begin to flutter rapidly. Without breaking his eye contact, he brushes his lips over the back of her hand and says, "I hope I'm not being to straightforward with this... Elizaveta Hederavy will you make me, Gilbert Weillschmidt, a promise right here right now?" "Of course." Elizaveta's voice is airy and can hardly be heard; if Gilbert hadn't been expecting her answer, he would have mistaken her voice as part of the wind. "Promise me that I will forever be the only one who can hold your heart and in return you will be the only one to hold mine." Gilbert's voice was deep and dark when he said those emotional words to her as if he was concentrated solely on her at the moment. Elizaveta was silent, her heart overflowing with emotion as she began to think about what Gilbert was asking of her. Gilbert was asking to hold her love because he could not ask for her hand.

"Oh, Gilbert!" she cries, dropping down to his level to throw her arms around him and kiss him passionately. "Is that a yes?" Gilbert asks between a kiss. Elizaveta doesn't answer, but nods instead as tears begin to flow from her eyes steadily. "I'm glad," he murmurs into the crook of her neck, finally relieved. Without warning, he lifts her up and sets her on the edge of the balcony. She clings tightly to his shoulders as she realized that the only thing that is keeping her from falling two stories is the wooden railing. "Gilbert!" she cries, obviously distressed at her location. The only thing the man before her does is lean closer a smirk on his lips which causes her to lean farther away and clutch onto his uniform tighter, her knuckles turning white. "Tell me you love me," he says seductively, his eyes alight with a mischievous fire. "Get me off this right now!" she commands, her voice rising. "Tell me you love me," is all that is said a second time. "Fine! I love you," she shouts. "Now get me off this thing!" "As you wish, love," he says, smoothly sweeping her off so that she is being cradled close to his muscular chest. Silently he walks over to his bed and lays her down upon the sheets. He soon follows so that he is looming over her slender frame.

"Gilbert, what are you -," she begins to ask, but is soon moved to silence by him holding a finger over her pink lips. "I know it is wrong of me to ask," he begins solemnly. "Ask what?" she questions innocently. "I will be in sin for asking and you will be too if you agree...," he continues as if she hadn't interrupted. "Ask what, Gilbert?" she asks, more forcefully this time. He looks down in shame, but speaks nonetheless. "I would like to covet you as my own...," he mumbles almost uncomfortably, his whole face getting hot at the mere suggestion of it. "Gilbert..." she says weakly, her eyes moist with the threat of a new onslaught of fresh tears ready for the perfect – or rather imperfect – moment to strike. "I know it's stupid of me to even speak of such a suggestion. I just couldn't help myself for some reason." A single tear slides down his cheek and lands, as if coordinated, right over her heart.

She reaches up and strokes his cheek, her hand also making its way to run through his soft silver locks. "I-I have always been your for the taking," she murmurs shyly, her entire face turning crimson now that she has finally voiced this thought. After she has said this, she finds her lips being overtaken by stronger yet still gentle lips. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, encouraging him to go farther as she murmurs, "I love you," against his lips. His hands begin to wander over her clothed body as he also whispers, "I love you."

And so began a sinful night that neither could honestly claim they would ever truly regretted.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Movement of Time**

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The first rays of sunlight passed through a crack in the curtains and hit her closed eyelids. She covers her eyes with her forearm and rolls onto her side to avoid the discomfort. Upon doing this her eyes immediately shoot open within a second. "No," she murmurs to herself, clutching at her heart through the fabric of her T-shirt, her eyes beginning to water. "He didn't even say good bye," she whispers as the tears begin to flow from her eyes in rivulets that land on his pillow. She couldn't help herself. The side of his bed still smelt exactly like him, but rather than console her it only made her weep harder. Delicately she ran her fingertips over the ruffled sheets, feeling sad and alone in the world once more. Why did he have to leave? Why now when she needed him most? She laid there and cried for what felt like an eternity until she could cry no more and began to choke, almost to the point that she felt like she would throw up.

She moved herself into a sitting position, her bare feet touching the cool and stable ground, as she began to wipe her face even though her tears had dried long ago. While she did this, she spotted a folded piece of paper on the nightstand she was sure hadn't been there before she had fallen asleep in his arms last night. As if it were made of crystal she carefully lifts it from the table and sees her name scrawled on it in his handwriting. When she opened it she could see the exact spots where water had hit the paper and smudged the ink. Had he been... crying?

_Dear Eli,_

_'I love you.' That's what I wanted you to wake up to this morning and I just wanted to be the person to tell you this even if it is only in writing. As you probably have already realized, I'm not home right now, I'm with my brother, Ludwig. I just didn't want this parting to be any more painful than it had to be so I left when you were sound asleep. I'm not sure if you knew I did this, but I probably kissed you at least twenty times before leaving, each time slightly longer than the last. Please don't hate me for leaving you like this, but if I had stayed to give you a proper good-bye, I may have done something crazy and shirked my duties to my country. God, Eli. I'm so scared right now. I don't want to go to war. I know we used to wage war like it was nothing when we were younger, but now it's different. Now I've become attached to you and I never want to even risk having to let you go. I love you. You know, I read that when soldiers left for a battle some time ago they would give something special to their beloved. In this case, since I've already gone, I have left something for you in the kitchen. I hope you like it._

_I remember when I first found you on my doorstep a few months ago. You looked pitiful (don't hit me) and you had with you only a suitcase and a book. For about two months I wondered why of all things you would have brought a book with you and a romance novel at that. Well, just a week ago I got my answer. I never would have guessed that you would have preserved that little flower for so long. We were so carefree then, but now... Eli, I don't think you realize how hard it is for me to write this right now. My hand shakes almost uncontrollably and tears are welling so heavily in my eyes that I think they're about to fall onto the paper now. Yep, there went the first one. I want you to know that I don't want to leave, that I love you, and if it were up to me I would make the whole world live in peace just so I would never have to leave your side again. Oh, Eli! Please forgive me for what I'm about to do on the battlefield. Whether you will ever truly forgive me or not is irrelevant until I get back. Actually, in the end I would rather you not forgive me because of what I am putting you through, but for the time being please allow me believe that I am forgiven. Please, Eli. I love you so much._

_I don't want to be sad anymore, not when I have to leave so soon. How about you tell me about your days from now on? You don't even have to send the letters, just keep them for me to read later (although sending the letters would be preferred, but if it's too much of a hassle I understand). I'll try to write to you every moment I can. Tell me everything about your day, how you feel, what you do, what you wear – everything and anything will suffice. That way I can pretend I'm not gone from my home within you. I love you so very much Elizaveta Hederavy._

_ Much Love,  
__Gilbert Weillschmidt_

She folds the letter up and puts it back in the exact same spot where she had found it earlier, her heart even heavier than it had been before. She could scarcely imagine how difficult it had truly been for Gilbert to have written the note. In her mind's eye, she could see him hunched over his work desk, pen in hand and brow furrowed in concentration as he searched for the right words to compose the letter. She sighed. Of course he would be forgiven... no matter what happened. She was not so heartless that she could not forgive him for fighting – she would have done the same.

"Dear Lord, keep him safe so that he may return to me," she whispers softly before allowing the soles of her feet to touch the cool hardwood floor as she stands. On her way to the door, Eli spots one of Gilbert's favorite jackets to wear during the autumn months thrown haphazardly across the floor. She gingerly picks it up and buries her face in it; it still held his smooth scent. Not wanting to part with one of the things that could remind her of him, she slips her small frame into the jacket, not caring in the slightest that it was several sizes too big. The house seemed eerily quiet as Elizaveta made her way to the kitchen, wondering what could be so important that Gilbert had taken the time to leave it behind.

When she walked into the kitchen she was almost surprised to find it the exact same way she had left it before falling asleep the night before. Maybe Gilbert had forgotten in his haste? That would be very much like him. Eli shrugged, she didn't really care, she still went around the kitchen going through her rounds to make her morning coffee. Once she had added the last of the creamer – she would have to find time to get more – she went to the table and pulled out her chair. If she had not set her cup down mere milliseconds ago, it would have shattered into a thousand little pieces on the tiled floor. She held her hand to her mouth as she stood open mouthed. So he hadn't forgotten after all. Before her on her chair was a single red rose and around its stem was a sparkling sterling silver ring that she remembered Gilbert wearing when they were younger. But that wasn't what she picked up first. Underneath the thoughtful gift was another note that she now held in her hand. It read:

_Eli,_

_Hope you didn't drop your morning coffee! I wanted to place this somewhere you wouldn't have noticed right away and the only thought that came to mind was on your chair. You're probably wondering why I chose to give you a rose and my old ring, right? Well, as you already know, the ring was mine – now I want you to keep it. The reason I chose this was because the gem in the center is a sapphire and I thought it would be perfect to symbolize the hope we both have for our future together; and it has a pure silver band which I take to mean how pure our love is. As for the rose, I want you to know that my love for you will hold true until that rose fades away from this world and dies._

_ With all the love in the world,  
__Gil_

She smiled grimly to herself. Until the rose dies? Well, that wouldn't take too long. Even through her sadness she moves to pick up his gifts, but the moment her hand brushes against the rose's stem she realizes that it was fake. Elizaveta shakes her head in amusement. Of course, leave it to Gilbert to not mention to her it was fake in the first place. Comforted now by that knowledge, Eli picks up the rose and slides the ring off the stem and onto her wedding finger. The sapphire stone looked beautiful in contrast to her pale skin. It looked just like an engagement ring and she wished with every fiber of her being it truly was a symbol of his proposal to hold her hand in marriage. After she had finished her morning coffee she went straight to writing about her reaction to his gifts, being sure to let him know much the two things meant to her and how much she missed and loved him. While she wrote, she realized just how empty the two story house felt without his presence. She sighs, wondering what he was doing right then...


	6. Chapter 6

**The Movement of Time**

* * *

A loud knock at his front door catches his attention and detracts it from the book he had been trying to read all night since he had been unable to fall asleep. He closes the book and sets it on the side table beside his armchair before running a hand through his golden hair, knowing full well who was at his door and why, but still trying to stall the inevitable. His black leather boots strike the hardwood floor with the sound of a strong, disciplined leader. He opens the door to a find a man in a navy blue uniform with blood red eyes boring deep into his own sapphire ones and silver locks that glisten by the dim light of the crescent moon at his back. "Reporting for duty, brother," he says halfheartedly, only his eyes expressing his true discomfort. "Gilbert, what are doing here so early in the morning?" the blond asks, trying his best to lighten the mood. Gilbert drops his head and mumbles, "In all honesty, I just couldn't sleep, Ludwig. And I couldn't wake her up just to leave her in a matter of mere hours." Ludwig nods knowingly and states, "If it's any consolation, I couldn't sleep either. Why don't you come inside and we'll have ourselves some coffee?" Gilbert nods and they both walk toward the kitchen, a thick silence in the surrounding air.

Ludwig takes a sip of the bitter brew before him, washing down the bile that was threatening to creep into his mouth. He hadn't seen his brother in a long time and he wished dearly that it did not have to be under such unsettling circumstances. "So how's Elizaveta's?" he asks nervously, hoping that she wasn't such a taboo for conversation any longer. Gilbert's eyes harden like the rubies they are as he says simply and almost apathetically, "It took a while to get her to stop crying last night about me having to leave and about the wedding, but other than that I think she's alright." Ludwig takes another drink of his coffee, coming to find that he didn't put enough sugar in it and decides to set it aside for a while. "I see," he says quietly more to himself than to his brother as he begins to match the tips of his fingers with each other. Gilbert heaves a heavy sigh, an action Ludwig has come to know means that all his pretenses were about to fall or at least crack.

"Eli... she's scared. Not about the wedding, but about what might happen to me out on the battlefield," Gilbert says, looking into his cup and staring back at his pathetic muddied reflection. Ludwig stays silent as he waits patiently for his brother to continue. "Ludwig?" he asks after a few moments of perpetual silence. "Hmm?" the other hums in response, unsure of what request will be made of him. "If something does happen to me, I want you to be the one to break the news to her." There was a solemn quality to his tone as he almost whispered those words. Keeping a dignified air, Ludwig bowed his head to signify that he would obey his brother's wishes. It was one of those moments when no words had to be spoken in order for two people to understand one another. They both knew what they were about to do and the consequences of a war and they were prepared to take the risks – even if it meant their last breath would be taken from them in the heat of battle.

In the dim light of a heavily overcast day, sparkling pools of blood surround them, the blood of both their enemy and their comrades mixing with the dirt. Bullets fly past, some barely missing and some missing by a long shot only to strike another unfortunate soul. It was dreary and horrifying to see how many bodies lay limp on the blood soaked ground, uniforms torn, bodies mutilated by artillery. Some, however, were not dead and could be saved, that is, if a medic could get to them in time before they died of blood loss. Every soldier's mind was numb as they fired back, only subconsciously bothering to recall the techniques they were taught during their training. On the battlefield it was kill or be killed, nothing else mattered but the instinct to survive.

It was as if he were in one of those war movies as he took cover behind a pile of sand bags, firing back only when the enemy had to take time to reload. Everything was silent and muffled as he waited for his turn to fire; he could feel his heart beat and it sounded as if it were right in his ears as he watched everything happen before him in slow motion. His men yelled incomprehensible orders at each other while they tried to fire back as mercilessly as the Russian enemy, but they just kept coming, infiltrating their perimeter steadily. Behind his small wall of protection Gilbert closes his eyes, willing the chaos to stop, but to no avail. He feels something warm on his cheek and envisioning that it was her hand encouraging him to go on just a little longer, causes him to reach up and touch it instinctively. But it is not a soft feminine hand that he feels under his fingertips, but a splatter of someone's crimson blood. This quickly brings him back to reality and he opens his eyes abruptly, spotting the corpse near a communication radio. "Ludwig! I can't hold them back much longer!" Gilbert shouts into the end of the fallen radio, hoping his brother or someone from his regimen would hear his plea for help.

After hearing word of his brother's cries, Ludwig races across the battlefield towards him, dodging bullets and anything that happens to fly his way. But when he ducks behind one of the mounds of sand bags to avoid the blast of a grenade, he sees in the distance the Russian enemy closing in on his brother. He clenches his teeth as he sees a light bronze haired man looming over Gilbert, rifle in hand and back facing Ludwig. Gilbert is out of ammunition, even in his pistol so Ludwig takes one solid aim at the man, pulling the trigger in a now a reflexive movement. Once the bullet strikes the man just under and to the right of the left shoulder blade, Ludwig heaves a sigh of relief – he had just hit him in the heart and now it was only a matter of seconds until the man died or Gilbert manages to escape. To his surprise, the man simply turns and faces him as if he had known exactly who it was that had shot at him and smiled. Ludwig's heart raced in fear because when the man smiled, it was not the sadistic smile of a man crazed by war, but the smile of an innocent child. Being too distracted by the smile, Ludwig didn't even notice when the man pulled a revolver from somewhere inside his coat and cocked the lever slowly as if lengthening the moment and savoring Ludwig's eyes widen as he comprehended what was happening. Ludwig tried to dodge the bullet entirely, but he was too late, the man had already pulled the trigger before he had managed to get out of range. His groan of pain as the bullet caught him in the left arm was muffled by the many other screams that came from every direction on the battlefield. Ludwig called for a medic and in moments one arrived at his side – after all he was still salvageable – but he blocked Ludwig's view of his dear brother.

"What – what do you want from me?" Gilbert chokes out, tears streaming down his cheeks without his knowledge and dread washing throughout his body as the Russian had pulled that tiny sliver of metal that was the trigger of his revolver. "I don't think you're in much of a position to be the one calling the shots," here he took a moment to laugh, exposing his true psychotic state. How could one laugh about the irony of 'calling the shots' while in a war zone? The Russian went on in his thick accent, "That was your brother I just shot, da?" Gilbert said nothing, but apparently his eyes that held clear defiance gave him away because the Russian merely smirked. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're in the middle of fucking war and all you can do is sit around and smile!" The Russian leans down so that his lips are near the ear of the Prussian. "Maybe it's because I am from hell?" He pulls back so his frightened enemy's eyes meet his lavender ones and that only causes his smile to widen when he sees the discomfort shining brightly in his ruby eyes. Gilbert shivers slightly at the man's words. "Ivan!" someone calls in a thick Russian accent. The man before him turns around, distracted for a moment so Gilbert takes this opportunity to attempt escape. He slowly begins to crawl away as quietly as possible without giving Ivan a reason to become distracted from the conversation in his native language.

Something seemed rather odd to Gilbert as he crawled noiselessly on the muddy battlefield and had been at the back of his mind some time after a grenade had gone off and Ivan had fired at his brother: What happened to all the noise? Gilbert gasps rather loudly causing Ivan to spot him mid-crawl. "Ah, would you look at that? The little Prussian was trying to escape. You will soon find that disobeying me is a rather stupid mistake." Ivan chuckles heartily to himself. "I'm no bitch of yours," Gilbert retorts venomously. With that said, he gathers all the saliva in his mouth and spits it at the Russian, showing his clear disrespect for the man. The last thing he sees is the purple-eyed man smiling malevolently before the butt of a rifle crashes against his skull and causes him to fall limp onto the bloody battlefield.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Movement of Time**

* * *

Even through his morphine haze, he could recall exactly what had happened on the battlefield as if he were reliving it over and over again. He had taken a clear shot at the Russian's heart and yet... it didn't appear to have affected him despite the fact that the bullet had gone straight through his body, leaving behind a small gaping hole in his chest. After the bullet had impacted in his arm, shattering his bone in the process, he knew they had lost and that they needed to retreat, but a part of him felt he should stay behind to help his brother even though all hope for his rescue was dismal. When the medic came to his aid with fear etched across his face, he said in a shaky voice, "Sir, we have to get out of here! Sir, are you still with me? We have to leave _now_!" Ludwig nodded in defeated and the medic made a motion with his arm for them to move out. All time slowed to a crawl as Ludwig was helped into a standing position. It was only when he tried to walk on his own that he felt a sharp pang travel up his leg from his ankle, rooting him to the spot. When had he sprained or broken his ankle? He didn't have the opportunity to figure out which it was or when it happened before his arm was looped around another man's neck and led away as quickly as his ankle would allow. When he was a safe distance from the Russians, who were celebrating their victory by sloppily drinking the vodka from their canteens – those damn brutes – he dared to steal a glance back towards his brother. His heart began to ache at the sight of his brother sprawled on the ground with tears leaving clean streaks in their wake on his face, dirtied by dirt and blood. He felt the desperate urge to run back towards him, to save him, to console him, but he couldn't with the medic still helping him limp further and further away from Gilbert, back to their base camp. From camp he would be flown out to field hospital along with all the other casualty survivors by helicopter. The doctors at the field hospital would then ship him to a real one because their equipment could not fix the shattered bone in his arm.

As he sits at the dining table with his ankle wrapped and arm in a cast and sling, he stares across to where his brother had sat only a week ago. What had happened to him? Was Gilbert dead, killed by the uncivilized hands of the Russians? Ludwig's whole body convulsed for a moment at the though of his brother lying on the ground as the Russian army beat on him. No, he shouldn't allow these feelings to cloud his judgment, he had to think of this in a militaristic manner. Gilbert Weillschmidt was a POW, a prisoner of war, and in the hands of the torturous Russian military. Even though this was the truth, Ludwig found this difficult to accept let alone comprehend, but he was sure of two things at that very moment: he would not only have to break the news to Elizaveta somehow, but he would also get his brother back, dead or alive, although he prayed dearly it wouldn't have to be the first option.

That night with the cloak and shelter of the sky, Ludwig sat at his desk and under the light of his lamp, began to compose his letter to Elizaveta. Countless times he scratched out so many lines that he would become frustrated enough to tear the paper to shreds; other times he would become so overwhelmed with emotion that his tears would land onto his writing, curling the paper slightly and smudging the ink so that his words became unreadable. In the early morning, Ludwig finally completed his letter and stamped at the top his country's seal; he would be delivering it tomorrow. In a spidery scrawl it read:

_Elizaveta Hederavy,_

_I am sorry to inform that while fighting valiantly for the sake of his German heritage, Gilbert Weillschmidt, was captured by the Russian military and has become a prisoner of war. We have no evidence or inclination to believe we know what has or will happen to him in the hands of the Russian government or military. He was a brave and hard fighting soldier who never gave up, who always did as he was instructed; he was the ideal soldier, but I know that this isn't what you want to hear. Eli, please understand that I am just as grief-stricken as you are. He is my only brother and believe me when I say that I love him dearly and pray every day and every night for his safe return._

_You deserve to know the truth about everything that occurred to him so for the first time in my life I will violate protocol and tell you. Gilbert fought hard, but he was caught out of ammunition when a Russian soldier came to him. When I heard word that my brother needed help protecting his perimeter, I ran to his aid and shot at the Russian once, believing I had hit him in the heart and killed his lifeline – that was my first mistake. My second came when I froze and allowed the Russian to pull his revolver on me. The bullet impacted and shattered the bone in my left arm, disabling it and stunning me. When I finally came out of my trance, a medic was attending to my wound (I must have called for him in my daze, I do not remember). We retreated upon my orders. I left with my regimen. That was my third and final mistake of the battle. I should have stayed back and try to give him an opportunity to escape, but I didn't. I was a coward in the face of danger and should never be forgive by anyone. I am the reason he is a POW and for that I should have been the one taken hostage by the Russian army._

_Sincerely,  
__General Ludwig Weillschmidt_

_P.S. He really loves you; I think that's something he would have asked me to tell you if he had the chance to._

Later that morning after several hours of restless attempts at sleep, haunted by thoughts of Gilbert, Ludwig got off his bed and carefully dressed in his formal uniform, his arm still not fully recovered and requiring a sling. He reread the letter he had composed not too long ago and slipped it into an envelope. When he stepped outside, putting his combination cap in the process, he found that his heart had suddenly turned to dread-filled jelly and his legs had become heavier than lead. He was full of regret and guilt and didn't want to see Elizaveta because he knew he wouldn't be able to simply leave the letter, instead she would hold the carefully written composition or set it down and ask him what it contained. But he had to for the sake of his brother. It was thoughts of Gilbert that enabled Ludwig to continue his trek to see Elizaveta, it was his duty and his alone to do so, to console her as Gilbert had asked of him.

His blood ran cold and he almost lost his nerve when he saw Elizaveta outside Gilbert's house, tending to the flowers they had planted on the side. She stood up, wiping her brow with a smile on her face, but that sweet smile faded at once when she took in the sight of Ludwig's formal attire. Silently she walked into the house, beckoning him to follow. They went straight to the kitchen where Eli began to heat water for tea and they uttered not a sound until it was done. She ushered him to the table from his position at the entrance where she set down both their cups with visibly shaking hands. She had accidentally spilled some of her own and wiped at it wordlessly with her apron, all the while being extremely careful not to even glance in his direction. Feeling that Eli was simply trying to stall what was coming, Ludwig walks over to her and gently places his hand over hers to still her unnecessary actions. She smiles sadly to herself at his gesture, turns around and, still not looking at him, asks quietly, "How bad is it?" "We," he said as he handed her the letter. "We don't know yet."

Eli couldn't stand to hold the letter; it felt too heavy in her hands so she simply set it on the kitchen table exactly like Ludwig predicted she would. "What – what does it say?" she asks, her voice trembling as she refers to the letter. "How much of a fuck-up I am," Ludwig responds, his tone even and flat. Knowing that he was not joking, she merely inclined her head, urging him with her eyes to continue. "I messed up," he resumes in shame. "I messed up real bad and now he's the one that has to pay for my stupid mistakes." Tears begin to pool in his sapphire eyes and run their course down his face as he tries desperately to keep his composure as she had so far; he was supposed to stay strong for her sake. However, he fails miserably, in the end covering his face with his right hand as sobs wrack through his body mercilessly. Eli steers him into a chair and allows him to a cry a while longer before she asks another heart wrenching question in the most delicate of voices, "What happened, Ludwig? What happened to Gilbert? Please tell me, I need to know." Ludwig looks up, seeing his own expression mirrored on her face. He takes a long and unsteady breath and with all the strength in his body utters the words that he knows will pain Elizaveta the most. "Gilbert, he was captured by the Russian army. He has now been declared a prisoner of war."

She bites down on her lip, trying so hard not to let Ludwig see her break down. Ludwig looks away and murmurs, "I won't tell anyone, it's okay." With those words, Eli falls to her knees and wraps her arms around her waist in a vain effort to hold herself steady and begins to take shallow breaths rather than cry. Once her breathing slows and goes back to normal, she looks up and asks, "Ludwig, what am I going to do?" He puts his hand on her shoulder in a comforting way and says, "I'll be here for you in his place. I'll come visit every day and on the days I cannot, I will send someone else, like Feliciano – you two were close once, right?" She nods, a small smile dancing across her features as she is reminded of the silly Italian, but she knew it still wouldn't fill the void and that his company wouldn't alter her situation or help it, but rather it would numb the pain; Ludwig must have also realized this because he stood up from his chair. "I think I should be going. You probably want some time to be alone. If you need me or just want someone to talk to, you know my number." With that said he bent down and kissed her forehead much like a father who has to go to work and is telling his daughter good-bye.

When she heard the front door close she finally allowed the tears she had managed to hold at bay fall freely. Elizaveta buried her face deep in her hands as she wept, her tears pooling in them and landing on her dress. What was she supposed to do now? The wedding was only three weeks away and she couldn't handle having to get married to a man she never could love while with the knowledge that her true love was a prisoner of war. It just couldn't be done... and yet it had to be. She traced the phoenix shaped sapphire on her "engagement" ring and her heart reached out to his; they had always been like two phoenixes soaring together into the horizon, completely content in the company of each other.

With unsteady legs, Eli made her way upstairs and into his room where she sat at his desk and started to write a letter to him, not sure if she would ever be given the opportunity to give it to him. It began:

_Gil,_

_I just received word that you are now declared a prisoner of war from Ludwig. He went through all the formalities, going as far as writing a letter he knew I wouldn't read. I'm glad he's here though. He could never truly fill the void I feel in my heart right now, but his company sure is a good distraction. He didn't tell me exactly what happened (I presume it's in the letter), but he seemed awfully guilty like he was blaming himself. He really loves you Gilly. I don't know when you will be getting my letters if you'll ever get them so I'll be sure to go back and write a date on all of them so that you'll know in what order to read them._

_Actually, I'm feeling a lot more distressed than I expressed in that first paragraph. Actually, my heart is in pieces and will remain like that until you get back to fix it again. My eyes are welling up with countless tears and I shake uncontrollably; my breathing is shallow as I think about you and where you are. I honestly don't think I can handle writing down how I am feeling right now. I apologize. I pray you are okay and will return safely to me soon._

_Forever yours,  
__Eli_

Tears ran down her pale cheeks and for the first time in a long time there was no one who could comfort her properly; not even Ludwig, nor Feliciano, no one could soothe the aching feeling she felt in her heart. At that moment she vowed to herself that not one soul would be able to make its way into her heart until Gilbert came back – if he ever did.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Movement of Time**

* * *

For years she had been a prisoner in her brother's home. But because it was not in her nature to think badly of others, she tried to make the best of her situation. In fact, she had been trapped for so long she actually had begun to find enjoyment – even pleasure – in cleaning and cooking for him daily. She smiled sadly to herself as she stood in front of the kitchen window, washing dishes that were already clean just to keep herself busy. She knew she only did these things to quiet her soul's yearning for the feel of the sun on her skin, for the feel of a cool breeze caressing her face like a lover, for the feel of anything but this dreary place. She shook her head abruptly, trying to rid herself of such thoughts, but it didn't help in the slightest. A single tear rolled down her pale cheek as she looked outside and saw nothing but a barren landscape, blanketed by frost and snow. How much she longed to be home where there was color in the land she would not – could not – say, so every night for the past five years she would lay in bed and cry herself to sleep. Her brother didn't know that, although he wouldn't care if he did anyway.

"Katyusha!" She cringed as a sickly sweet voice called her by her nickname; she didn't want him home, not yet. Wiping her hands with her apron, she walks into the front room. "Welcome home, brother," she murmurs monotonously, her head bowed and hands delicately clasped in front of her. When Katyusha lifts her head, her murky blue eyes widen at the sight of a half dead corpse slung over her brother's shoulder as if it were a sack of potatoes rather than a human being. "Ivan!" she shouts, her voice an octave higher than usual. "What on earth did you do?" Ivan shrugs and practically tosses the man in front of Katyusha's feet. She tried to catch him, but failed miserably, causing both of them to tumble to the floor. "What did you do?" Katyusha asks again, standing between Ivan and the stranger that now lay on the floor. She stood strongly against the tyrant of the household, despite the fact that an action such as this would most likely result in a severe punishment. Ivan's oddly colored violet eyes bore deep into her own and he said evenly, "His brother tried to kill me. I couldn't capture his brother to imprison him, so I had to settle for him." He gestured at the body behind her as if it meant nothing to the rest of the world. "But to bring him here like this, in this condition," she said softly, looking back at the man that lay limp on the rug. "It's inhumane!" "I did what had to be done," Ivan says, his voice firm. "It's not right," Katyusha argues. "He may be your prisoner, but that doesn't mean he isn't as human as us." Ivan leans down and whispers darkly into into her ear, "You're too nice, Katyusha. But don't worry, it's only because you're _stupid_."

She clenched her teeth, closed her eyes tightly, and soon she felt the back of her right hand collide with the soft muscle of Ivan's cheek, in the process creating a loud sound that echoed throughout the silent house. "I am _not_ stupid, Ivan!" Katyusha yells, now in possession of all the confidence in the world. "You will not touch this man; he is now under my protection and you _will_ allow me to go out to get the appropriate mediation and anything he needs to provide him with the proper care." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you stupid, Katyusha," Ivan murmurs in a voice much like that of a child. Her heart almost melted at the tone he had suddenly took with her, but she remembered she had to remain strong if only for the stranger she vowed just now to protect. "I don't want your empty apologizes. Go to your room, Ivan," she says calmly. And like a child obeying orders he didn't want to, Ivan stomped down the hall and slammed his door as hard as he possibly could. Katyusha flinched at the rough sound, but otherwise remained unaffected.

Soundlessly Katyusha lifts the man and carries him upstairs to her room where she lays him gently upon her bed. After making sure her door was locked, Katyusha sat on her windowsill and drew her knees up to her chest. She was a terrible person. She was using the condition of this man to escape her brother's prison if only for a few hours at a time. She began to weep helplessly into her knees, her body shaking horribly.

With a start, he quickly wakes up in a cold sweat. That dream, that damn dream was still burned deep into his memory. The entire dream revolved around Elizaveta and every bit of it had made his heart ache dearly for her, to comfort her, just to hold her close. Throughout the course of the nightmare Eli had been clothed in a straight black dress that reached the middle of her calves and covering her emerald eyes was a lacy black veil. He had seen the day Ludwig had told Eli the news that he was dead and how she dimly went about her daily routines still clad in the darkest of black. Then came the day of her wedding. Like most brides, Eli had worn a white gown to symbolize the purity of her heart, but a black veil to show the world and Roderich that she was still in mourning for the loss of her one true love. It was only when Roderich moved to lift her veil that Gilbert finally awoke from the dream, proving to himself that he wasn't dead yet and that meant he would have to opportunity to one day escape and return to her.

Speaking of the Russian, where was Gilbert's captor? And why was he on such a comfortable bed and in a normal looking room when he was a prisoner of war? It had to be a mind game or something the Russian was playing! A muffled sob tore his attention from his situation and caused him to look about the room and find a woman with short wavy blond hair, held back by a navy blue headband, huddled on the windowsill. He moved to get up, but when he tried he found that his entire body suddenly felt like lead and his muscles went limp. "Hey, you over there," he called out tactlessly. The woman looked up, exposing a tear streaked face and watery teal eyes that shimmered with a new onslaught of tears. She took one glance at him and murmured more to herself than anything, "Oh! You're up," before stepping towards him. As she did so, Gilbert got a better look at his company; he couldn't deny that she was beautiful with a slim figure and full breasts, but even at his lowest, Gilbert could also not deny that he had eyes only for Elizaveta.

The woman reached out to touch him, but Gilbert swatted her hands away and demanded, "Who the hell are you? Why are you here?" "My name is Yekaterina Braginskaya; I am elder sister to Ivan," she replied softly. Gilbert smirked and said, "Then why are you here Yekaterina? Did your brother ask you to become my bitch or something?" Before she could object to his statement, he continues his accusation with,"Oh wait, don't tell me! You decided to become my bitch all on your own when your fucking bastard of a brother brought me here. Why don't you say anything Yekaterina? It because it's true, isn't it? Don't lie to me." Those words sent her over the edge. It was one thing for a man to talk about her intellect and take advantage of her for it, but it wasn't something else entirely for a man to question her purity. "Listen here, damn it! I am nobody's bitch and you are in no fucking position to be talking about me like I'm some fucking whore. Do you understand me, you bastard?" she yelled, applying slight pressure to his chest with her hand, causing him to wince. "Yes, ma'am," Gilbert said, his voice tight with anger and pain.

Yekaterina took her hand off his chest and whispered, "Ivan, he brought you here without even having bothered to dress your wounds. For five years I have been a prisoner in his home, unable to even step outside for a second, and for five years I have been his submissive and doting sister. But when I saw you, I knew I couldn't just overlook what would be taking place in this household in the future. The sight of you half dead on the floor gave me the strength to finally stand up for what was right. I took control and claimed you as under my protection. I am allowed to leave only to get what is necessary to care for you." The entire time she said this, Yekaterina had not been able to look at him and that did not escape Gilbert. "So you took me under your wing for temporary freedom?" he asked slowly, cautiously. When she turned her back to him and buried her face in her hands, he knew he was right. It took all the strength in his body to gently hold onto her arm. "It's okay, Yekaterina. I would have done the exact same thing had I been in your situation. But I have one request for you if you're even willing to fulfill it after the way I talked to you just now," Gilbert said in a voice as light as a feather. She turns around slowly and asks wearily, "What do you want?" Gilbert heaves a sigh of relief; at least she was going to have an open mind. "Well, you see, I have a girl back home – the love of my life actually – and she's about to get married to man she doesn't even love in a few weeks. I beg of you, when you go to get my meds and all that, please help me send letters to her and if you could deliver hers to me," Gilbert pleads. Yekaterina looks down upon him with tear filled eyes and nods her head. "Thank you," Gilbert whispers, taking one of her hands into both of his. "For this alone, I will owe you my life, Yekaterina." She smiles a little at this and says, "No you don't Gilbert Weillschmidt." "How do you know my name?" Gilbert asks perplexed. "It's on your dog tags," she answers simply before walking to the window to stare out into the snowy land before her.

"Yekaterina," Gilbert begins, "I'm sorry for having been such an asshole to you just now. It's just –" "Being in a war for so long changes you and not for the better. I know; it's the same with my brother. For the longest time his country has been plagued with hardships and wars, he is no longer the same little caring Ivan that I remember from when we were younger, but who could blame him? We as nations do not get to choose our fates. Our fates are chosen by our leaders, but sometimes those fates are not what we wish them to be so we struggle to fight them. After all, in a sense, we are only human," she says, turning around to face Gilbert once again. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes I wish I could stop being a nation because there's so much crap that goes along with it; but there's always one thing I'm not too sure I'd be willing to give up so easily." Yekaterina stares at him curiously and asks, "What is that?" "Miss Elizaveta Hederavy." She smiles kindly and says, "She's a lucky woman to have such a loyal partner." "No. I'd like to think that I'm the lucky one in the relationship," Gilbert says fondly. "She got the raw end of the deal; she has to put up with my sorry impatient butt." "I see. Well, get some rest Gilbert. I'll make sure no harm comes to you and I'll try to get a better person to evaluate your wounds tomorrow," Yekaterina says, stroking Gilbert's forehead to soothe him into a comfortable slumber. "Thank you," Gilbert manages to mumble before falling under sleep's all too tempting spell.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Movement of Time**

* * *

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, every bit of exposed flesh burned with the intensity of the cold wind that blew mercilessly across the freezing tundra. She pulled her coat tighter about herself and began making her way through the snow. Her first taste of freedom in over five years and it was already bittersweet. She wanted almost desperately to retreat into the warm confines of the house at her back, but she refused the temptation for two reasons: she by no means wanted to give Ivan that satisfaction and she had a very important mission to accomplish.

He hummed softly to himself as he carefully dried one of his finer crystal glasses. Why he began washing dishes that were already clean and hardly ever used, he did not know. A loud knock from his front door caused him to nearly drop the glass he held. He clumsily placed it, along with the rag he had been using on the counter and made his way to the entrance hall to answer the door. "Oh! Yekaterina, what a lovely surprise. Although I'm afraid I have no tea to offer. Would you like a glass of water instead?" he asks, ushering Yekaterina into his humble home. "Yes, that would be nice," she responds, bowing her head in thanks to her gracious host. Without being asked to, she hangs her coat and places her gloves in its pocket while her old acquaintance fetches the water that would be their substitute for tea. When he comes back, he hands her a glass filled with cool water and she soundlessly follows him to the living room. Before they entryway he suddenly stops to face her, his dusty emerald eyes alight with cleverness. "This isn't just a visit to catch up, is it Yekaterina?" She smiles warily to herself and replies, "You always could see right through me, Toris. You're absolutely right, I'm not here to simply exchange a few pleasantries for old times' sake. I have a very serious favor to ask of you."

Toris takes a seat, running a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair, and with that same hand, gestures for Yekaterina to take the chair opposite of him. "Then by all means, Katna, ask away." "You haven't called me by that since you were articulate enough to pronounce my full name properly," she states fondly, taking her seat and setting her water on the coffee table between them. He counters with, "Times have changed, however, our bond – forged when we were young and remained strong even while we were both Ivan's prisoners – has yet to be broken. Which is something I hope dearly will never happen." "As do I," Yekaterina murmurs mostly to herself. "You said earlier that you have something to ask of me," Toris prompts over the edge of his crystal glass before taking a drink.

"Yes," Yekaterina replies, readying herself to briefly recount what had occurred only a day ago. "You see, Ivan has taken in another prisoner. His name is Gilbert Weillschmidt – you may know of him." Toris inclined his head that he did. "I've heard of him," he confirms in a monotone, his voice tight and cautious. Feeling slightly more confident, she continues, "He came in such awful shape that I knew I couldn't ignore what would be happening under our roof so I took him under my protection. And as you know, I am a better nurse than I am a doctor –" "The answer is no," Toris states, his tone as cold as his eyes. "Wh-what?" she manages to stammer, taken aback by the severity of his words. "I only ask of you to pay him one visit to evaluate his wounds so I can care for them properly. You don't even have to do any follow-up visits," she pleads. "No. I will do no such thing. This world is cruel, Yekaterina, and its' time you learn –" She had heard enough just then; she didn't need someone lecturing her on how cruel the world was – she already knew. She stands up, purposely knocking over the glass that held her untouched water so that it would shatter into a million pieces against the hard floor. "Don't you dare say another word, Toris! Your heart has become as cold as Ivan's!" she shouts, tears filling her eyes as she runs out of the house, hastily grabbing her coat on the way out. How could the man who had once been so kind and tended to her wounds, received by the hand of her own brother, be so incredibly heartless?

He gazed after her quickly retreating figure and upon hearing the front door slam, let out a heavy sigh. Toris then stood and began to clean the mess she had left, accidentally slicing his palm on a particularly sharp piece of glass. Lifting his hand to examine the wound, he stares as the gash leaked thick ruby liquid. He watched as a large drop of this liquid fell from his hand and landed onto the fragments of crystal that lay broken on the floor, tainting them. For a quick instant he allowed his mind to flicker to Gilbert and his heart burned with anger and pumped venom into his bloodstream. Why him? What made _him_ so deserving of Yekaterina's care and affection? Why couldn't he have been the recipient of such a wondrous luxury when he had been taken prisoner by her brother? Soon these thoughts provoked emotions within him that caused tears to join his much diluted blood. Why not him?

A thin layer of perspiration coated his entire body as his muscles convulsed sporadically and his breathing came out in heavy gasps. It didn't matter how many blankets covered his body, the room still remained unbearably frigid while his body burned like the fires of Hell. He heard the door creak open and immediately he sat up, still panting in order to get oxygen into his system. "Dear Lord," she mutters as she drops all the things she had been carrying onto the floor and rushes over to Gilbert's side. Gently easing him onto his back, her hand flutters to his forehead to check his temperature. He groans at the feel of her cold hand against his overheated skin and his eyes, clouded by the strong fever, close at the wonderful sensation. As soon as that gentle feminine touch came, it had disappeared, replaced after several long moments by a damp cloth. "Oh, Gilbert! I'm so sorry. I'll try harder tomorrow," she weeps desperately, patting him down in the hopes of distracting him from the fever's heat or to comfort him – his mind was too hazy to figure out which it was.

When she finally managed to coax him in what was mostly likely a fitful sleep for him, she collapsed onto her knees helplessly. It had been bad enough before when it was only his wounds that disabled him, but now he had a severe fever to put his life in jeopardy. What was she supposed to do now? She had no medic, let alone a doctor to diagnose him properly. That night she cried herself to sleep on her makeshift bed on the floor because of this knowledge. She felt so useless and insignificant; she could do little to help the ill man that lay whimpering on her bed and that thought only made her cry harder.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Movement of Time**

* * *

Where was she to turn now that the one man she knew who could help was choosing to turn his back on her and her situation? She splashed cool water on her tear-stained face as she tried to convince herself that not all was lost. "Miss Yekaterina," a soft, almost feminine voice called from just outside the open bathroom door. Swiftly, she spun around, clutching a well sharpened dagger behind her back – in a house run by an oppressive tyrant, one could never take too many precautions. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she spotted the young man who had called her standing in the doorway, looking nervous and scared as he always did. "Raivis, you frightened me! I didn't think anyone else would be up at this hour." She chuckled lightly to herself as she sheathed her dagger once again. "So-someone's at th-the door, M-Miss," he managed to stutter. Yekaterina nodded and walked past him, but suddenly stopped to face him. "Tell me, Raivis," she demanded gently. "Why is it that you always appear so afraid even when Ivan is not around?" When his innocent violet eyes met hers for the briefest of moments, she easily recognized the glistening threat of tears. "For the same reason you draw your dagger!" he shouts, eyes overflowing now as he runs down the hall and eventually out of sight. She smiled sadly; everyone who resided within these walls were governed solely by fear.

The chime of the doorbell ringing throughout the house jerked her back to reality. She hurried down the stairs to answer the door, but the moment she did, she wanted nothing more than to slam it. "What the hell do you want?" she asked venomously, glaring at the man that stood before her. "Hear me out before you start getting angry," the man pleaded. "Hear you out? You mean like how you heard me out the other day, Torris?" Yekaterina shot back. "Okay, so I deserve that one," Torris admits defeatedly. "You're damn right you do. Listen, Torris, there is an incredibly sick man upstairs whom I need to attend to, so if you don't mind..." Torris caught her hand before she moved to close the door on him, meeting her eyes and searching, searching for a tiny sparkle of compassion, but found none. Yekaterina smirked when he finally looked away. "Oh! So you've had a change of heart, have you?" she asks with biting sarcasm. He remains silent, looking down at the ground like a puppy waiting to be punished. "I have a man _dying_ in my bed – I don't have time for games," she states impatiently. "Nor do I," Torris says, locking eyes with her. "Allow me to see my patient." She pulled her blade so that it rests just under his chin, the tip barely grazing the soft skin of his throat. "Listen here Torris Laurinaitis, I may not know what brought this about – I don't care – but if you so much as threaten him or his health, I will _not_ be so forgiving." With a gentle hand, Torris guides her arm lower so that the point of the blade is over his heart. "Miss Yekaterina Braginskaya, you have my word as a man that I will do no such thing and if I go back on this promise, you have my permission to punish me any way you see fit, including death," Torris whispers almost seductively. She spins on her heel, but not before he had caught a glimpse of a light blush dusting her cheeks. "Follow me," Yekaterina says in an attempt at a monotone. He does as instructed even though he already knew the way to her room by heart from all those times he had visited in the middle of the night to comfort her.

Standing outside her door, he faces her and requests, "I would prefer you to stay out here while I examine him." She looks defiantly at him, her icy blue eyes glittering with sorrow and replies, "No. I will be with you, I have to be of some use around here and after all, he is my responsibility." "Katna," he murmurs kindly. "You don't have to pretend to put up such a brave front. He reaches out his arm to stroke her cheek affectionately, but she slaps it away, practically shouting, "Don't you dare call me that! I don't need your damn pity." Torris sighs and walks into the room with Yekaterina right behind him. She wastes no time, quickly rushing to the bedside table to wet a cloth in the bowl of water and walking over to the man writhing in pain on her bed. The silver haired man lifts his head to stare blankly at her and in a hoarse voice whispers, "Yekaterina is that you?" "Shh, Gilbert, it's me. Relax, someone's here to look at you. This is Torris Laurinaitis, he will be acting as your physician upon my request," she says like a mother speaking to her ill child. The man takes her hand in both of his own and mutters his thanks. She steps aside so that Torris can have better access to the man, but never does she let go of his hand.

When Torris steps up, Gilbert's clouded red eyes fall upon him and he smirks, despite his condition. "So you're the infamous Torris. You look exactly how she said you would." He disregarded that statement as the fever talking and went about his work, checking his heartbeat, looking for any signs of infections, and lastly, the severity of his wounds. "There's really not much we can do I'm afraid other than help him with the symptoms because I cannot locate the source of his fever. His wounds are – they're healing well. You've done a good job dressing them, Katn-Yekaterina," Torris says not wanting to look at her still. "Thank you," she mutters, her face reddening slightly at the compliment. He moved to embrace her but soon thought better of it and walked to the door instead. "I'll be back tomorrow with the medication he needs," Torris said in a business-like tone. "No! Ah, Yekaterina can go pick it up," Gilbert managed to choke out with some difficulty. He nodded and replied, "I'll just see myself out. See you tomorrow, Miss Yekaterina." With a slight bow, the brunette man took his leave of the two.

"Why did you do that, Gilbert?" Yekaterina asked solemnly once she heard the front door open and close. "You two seemed like you had something you needed to work out alone," Gilbert replied simply, closing his eyes. "You heard us didn't you?" He nodded slowly before lapsing into a slumber moments later. "You have no idea," she said, absentmindedly carding through his smooth hair. What would she say when she met with Torris tomorrow? What _could_ she say?


	11. Chapter 11

**The Movement of Time**

* * *

_They talked about them as if they were some sort of oddity, presented to them by the universe for their own sick amusement. He hated it; hated how they feared the brother yet still laughed at how the younger sister clung to him and scoffed at the eldest for desperately trying to hold her family together. He didn't know their names, didn't even know what they looked like, but he always stood up for them._

_._

_His breath came to him sporadic gasps as he staggered weakly from the battlefield. Unceremoniously, he dropped his sword and shield before joining them in the lush grass on his knees and crawling to the nearest tree so he could sit up a while and regain himself. The sound of clashing metal still rung clearly in his ears and the sight of flashing weapons in the bright sunlight replayed over and over in his mind's eye as his vision began fading to black._

_To this day he does not know what exactly had caused him to stir – she had been so quiet and gentle while she wrapped his twisted ankle that if felt less like a minor medical procedure and more like a butterfly's kiss. He placed his hand on his hip, preparing to draw his back-up dagger if the need should arise. It was then that the young girl took the opportunity to look up at him with blank sapphire eyes before returning to her work. "I am not your enemy so you need not unsheathe your weapon – I will do you no harm," she mumbled monotonously, her eyes daring a quick glance into his own emerald ones. "Pardon me, I don't mean to seem rude, but who are you?" he asked incredulously as he watched her tie off the gauze._

_Now that her hands were no longer busy, she daintily placed them in her lap and stared intently at them, causing her golden locks to fall into her face. "It does not matter, you don't care. But I've heard about you. You're that boy, Torris Laurinaitis, who defends that dysfunctional family – the one with the sadistic brother and hopeless sisters – aren't you?" she accuses, lifting her chin to glare at him directly. "They are not disagreeable! Don't talk about them like that!" Torris shouts, but his reaction only earns him a humorless chuckle from the girl. "How little you know. Tell me Torris, have you ever even met this family ?" He shook his head, unable to speak. "No? Then surely you must know their names." Torris remained motionless, refusing to speak or give any indication that he knew nothing of the family. "I see," she murmured mostly to herself._

_Her features softened ever so slightly and the edges of her lips curved upwards into a small clumsy smile. "Well then Torris, I must thank you," she said gently, her voice like silk once again. He could only manage to give her a look of utter confusion, though he tried his best to mask it. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he managed to choke out, anxiously running a hand through his brown hair as casually as possible. She laughed this time, a tinkling laugh that was wonderful to hear even if she did try to muffle it behind her hand. "I should be the one to apologize," she claimed solemnly. "I suppose I was testing you. I just needed to know how far you would defend the Bravinsky family." "You still haven't answered my first question though. Who are you?" Torris pointed out. "Oh! How rude of me, but as I said before I had to test you before I could trust you," she said coyly. "My name is Yekaterina Braginskaya," she stated in a rich and heavy accent, holding her hand out for him to take. "So you're," he trailed off, taking her soft calloused hand dumbly. All she did was nod slowly, a placid smile upon her tiny pink lips. "I am the eldest sister. Pleased to meet you Mister Laurinaitis." "Li-likewise Ye – Yeke – Miss Braginskaya," Torris stuttered stupidly._

_Yekaterina couldn't help trying to hide her grin behind her unused hand. "You can come up with a nickname until you learn to pronounce my name properly. My brother and sister call me Katyusha." Of course he caught that her generally cheerful tone faltered at the mention of the name Katuysha. "That sounds a bit harsh. How about Katna? I think that sounds pretty – like the name of a sweet scented flower," he explained, clearly pleased by his idea. "I would like that," she muttered, grinning as a light blush dusted her cheeks._

"_Well, Katna Braginskaya, it's a pleasure having met you." With that said, he allowed his lips to ghost over the back of her hand, causing her face to warm at the kind and chivalrous action. This time she was the one with the momentary speech impediment as she thanked him and brought the kissed hand close to her chest. "I'm sorry, did I upset you – I honestly didn't mean to," Torris blurted out so fast he almost tripped over his words. "No, no, no! It's just, well I'm not so used to being treated so kindly – even by my own family," she mumbled quietly, her tone betraying her true emotions. "They must not realize what a truly talented and special lady they have in their midst," he whispered. "You can't mean that. After all, we just met." "You wrapped my ankle perfectly and above all you did it for a complete stranger – a kindness this stranger can never allow himself to forget." The color in her cheeks deepened at the compliments and they both found each other looking away in embarrassment._

_._

"_Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, taking in the sight before her with wide eyes. "I think I'm making progress," he replied with a goofy grin across his face to expertly hide the pain he felt in both of his hands. She looked at him in disbelief and retorted with, "Yeah, progress with your personal well being at stake – look at what she did to you this time Torris! Who's to say she won't do worse next time?" "Oh Katna, you worry too much. She just slammed them in a door; they'll just bruise a little – I hope," he said referring to his fingers. "But of course! Now get over here so I can make sure nothing is broken. Although maybe if I left them untreated you may learn your lesson." Torris said nothing in retaliation to her rather cold remark and closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. "Come now Katna, you know you wouldn't do that to me," he cooed._

"_Why do you still call me by that name?"she snapped, only half jokingly. "Because it sounds so sweet and lovely, just like you," he replied flirtatiously. "How can you say such things when you –" Her words were cut off by a hiccup as tears began forming in her eyes. "When I constantly try to seduce Natalia," he finished for her. "You know as well as I do that I only do it for her own good, so she can separate herself from Ivan and realize she doesn't need to rely on his strength alone." Yekaterina winced when she heard her younger brother's name, a characteristic trait that she only ever did after Ivan had done something awful and unspeakable to her. As sobs wracked her body he held her close. "What did he do, Katna? Please tell me what he did to you," he pleaded, but she only shook her head against his chest. "If you won't tell me, I'll have to confront him about it," he proclaimed, turning away from Yekaterina and making his way to the door. "No!" she practically screamed as she threw her arms around his waist, but dragged him down to the floor as her legs gave away and she fell to her knees. Torris took this moment of weakness and pushed down the collar of her shirt to reveal exactly what horrors Ivan had committed against his own sister. There on her neck, plain as day, were red hand-prints from where he had strangled her within an inch of her life – or at least Torris assumed that is what he had done. The moment only lasted a fraction of a second before Katna pulled up her collar._

"_What happened? I need to hear it from your lips in your voice, please," Torris begged, holding her face between his hands as if she were made of glass. "I guess I deserved it. It's quite silly actually, I was saying things I shouldn't have and talking back." She smiled weakly, tears still trickling down her cheeks. "Really, I'm fine. It looks a lot worse than it is." That's what she always said, how was this time any different? Why did he expect her to suddenly open up to him about these things? "Right, but the next time something like this happens, we're going to run away together and never come back." It was any empty promise and they both knew it, but dreams were all they had at this point. She lay her forehead against his and whispered her thanks. Torris had to leave shortly after, fearing getting caught by Ivan and being punished severely for being in Yekaterina's room. As it turned out, his fingers were only lightly bruised; however, they both knew Ivan would do much worse later down the road, they simply chose to ignore that fact._

_In her heart Yekaterina knew she had done the right thing, even though she still felt a pang of guilt for keeping a secret from her best friend. If he knew the truth, he may have tried to do something reckless for her sake and she didn't want that. Ivan had a reason for nearly choking the life out of her – he always had a reason. It had started with her asking Ivan to take it easy on Torris for a while – prisoners of war needed to be treated humanely too, yes? He had taken offense to the request and questioned why she would ask this for a man who practically threw himself at Natalia every chance he could. Because Yekaterina knew different and understood why he tried to earn their sister's trust, she defended Torris, an action that caused her little Ivan to snap and wrap his large hands around her neck to get her to be quiet. Her fingertips brushed against the forming bruises and her mind burned with the knowledge that she would forever have to keep this a secret from Torris._

.

He sat in his study trying to concentrate on the massive pile of work that haunted his desk. He was about to apply himself for the umpteenth time that hour when a knock from downstairs floated into the room, promising him a good distraction. Paperwork be damned; he jumped from his chair and bolted down the stairs to open the door. Before him stood a wonderful woman, the woman who had the claim to his heart since the fateful day they first met in that field under the maple tree. "Hello, Doctor," she said sweetly in her Ukrainian accent. "Miss Braginskaya, please come in," he said, gallantly stepping to the side to make room for her entry.

Without warning, a pair of arms threw themselves around his neck, holding him embarrassingly tight to her body. "Oh Torris! I'm so sorry," she cried, tears running down her face and onto his shoulder. "There's nothing for you to apologize for, I was the cruel one, I'm the one who needs to apologize. The only question that remains is whether or not you will accept it Yekaterina," he mumbles as he wraps his arms around her waist. She pulls away slightly so she can look him in the eye and whispers softly, "Katna. My true name – the name only you can ever use – will forever be Katna." Slowly, Torris lowers his lips so that they barely touch hers. "God, Katna. You have no idea how scared I was that I had lost you forever just because I was stupid," he said against her lips, his warm breath fanning over them. "You must be stupid because you could never lose me Torris," Katna proclaimed, closing the millimeters of distance that had once separated their lips.

* * *

Author's Note: Firstly, I must apologize profusely for having taken so long to update this story and even then I only updated with a side story. The reason being is that I haven't exactly worked out the long distance thing between Gilbert and Eli, but I promise I will soon. Because I've had a sad excuse of writers' block these past few months, I've channeled my creativity for this story in the form of multimedia. I'm almost done making a video and will hopefully be posting it on youtube soon; I will be sure to let you all know when I do so. Thank you all who have followed this story and reviewed. Until the next chapter (which will hopefully be soon)!


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